American Idiot 2: Revolution Radio
by Rare Ship Shipper
Summary: Jimmy's back from the dead, meaning that something's up with Johnny. He isn't a punk-rock wannabe anymore, from what Jimmy understands, so what's left for there to be? (Characters taken from the album, except Jesus of Suburbia being replaced by Johnny. I don't own anything.)
1. Somewhere Now

Jimmy sat on the rain-soaked bench at the bus station, futilely attempting to smoke. He wondered if he even had a place with Johnny anymore since he move back home. His function was an outlet for Johnny to move away from the suburban life and embrace an identity in the city; he was a hand to hold on the worst of the nights while Johnny begged for the pain to go away. He was meant to have died when Johnny decided to go with Whatsername.

And he did die. Twelve years, in fact, was the amount of time he was dead. How bad did things get for him to be wanted again? Glimpses of waking up when Donald Trump- wasn't he just a reality star or some real estate dude?- was on the news, when people were beginning to protest the removal of Confederate flags, and the list goes on and on.

To be honest, Jimmy didn't know why he woke up at this bus stop in Indiana. The only things he had were a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and the clothes on his back. He wondered if he looked the same as he used to. Johnny would probably be recognizable, but not the fresh-faced 18-year-old he was in 2004.

He grunted and threw the cigarette on the ground, giving up in his attempt. There had to be someplace nearby that he could get out of this damn rain.

 _I'm runnin' late to somewhere_ _now,_

 _I don't want to be..._

Had he heard those words before? He pulled the jacket he wore tighter around him even though he knew it would do nothing. It wasn't until now that he realized that red stained his white shirt and sighed. He only wanted another start.

Jimmy walked for hours, feeling a sense of urgency that he had someplace to be. A gas station, not unlike the 7/11 where he first met Johnny, appeared through the rain. The last he knew, pay phones were dwindling because of cheap cell phones, but he was sure there was a phone book. Maybe he could look Johnny up.


	2. Bang Bang

Jimmy opened the door, with the little bell ringing. The kid behind the counter didn't even look up. The TV played indistinctly, probably a news channel.

" _Videos are showing another hostage executed by the terrorist group..._ " He looked up as a rather graphic video played of someone being decapitated by a Middle Eastern man. " _Deserve to be annihilate..._ " The subtitles read.

He clenched his fists as he went up to the counter. "Excuse me?"

The kid looked up. "What?"

"Do you have a payphone?"

"What year are you living in? 1986?"

He scoffed. "No, I was just asking because... my phone's dead."

"There might be one outside."

The phone outside was only shielded by a small plastic booth, and no phone book to be seen. "Damn..." He could feel rage boiling inside of him, not so empty like when Johnny moved to the city, but it wasn't from himself.

He leaned against flimsy wall of the booth, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he found himself leaning against a bus stop in the city. Across the street he saw the old building filled with graffiti Johnny and he used to hang out in. A small group of punks were setting up a little stage with beat up amps and pallets.

"Hey, you!" The blonde called out and pointed to him. "C'mere!"

Jimmy checked the road and sauntered over. "Yeah?"

Another one with vibrant blue hair handed him a stack of fliers. "Would ya mind passing these out or sticking them on telephone poles? We wanna get as many people over here as possible."

"Sure, sure. You doing a show?" The other two were engrossed in their own conversation, debating the benefits of veganism vsersus the cons.

The blonde nodded. "Yeah," he pointed to the guitars laying not too far away and the drums stacked neatly by them. "We're also holding an open-mic for all the other people who don't get to come 'round often. Slam poetry-type stuff."

Johnny could be here... He could get all of his answers! "I'll be back later, then. Don't wanna miss this."

For a few hours he wandered the area, handing out fliers to the locals and sticking them to windows with a glue stick he found on the ground... And running away quickly as people would chase after him for sticking it to the window. When it got darker, he headed back to the building and saw some trash barrels had been lit and old industrial lights aimed at the makeshift stage.

"Hey, how're you guys doin' tonight?" The blonde guy asked the rather impressive crowd. "We're gonna do a short set and then start the open mic, so I hope you brought instruments! To kick this off, we've got our very own Kid X on bass, Mozart on drums, and yours truly, Alex, on guitar. This is a song called 'Herds of Sheep'."

The song was fairly slow and had less of the typical "punk" feel, but was basically flipping the bird at conformity. A few songs played after that with the more traditional stuff, and then came the open mic.

"You, you. Yeah, you in the Ramones shirt with the green hair. Get your ass up here." The group cheered him on and shouted encouragement. Alex pulled a guy in his mid to late 20s up and passed him the microphone. "What's your name?"

"Johnny."

"Give us all you got, Johnny." More cheers followed.

Johnny strummed on his guitar. " _I'm runnin' late to somewhere now, I don't want to be..."_

Jimmy's head shot up. This wasn't just any guy with the same name. As Johnny finished, he pushed his way to the front and eventually got pulled up on the stage.

"You got a name?"

"Jimmy."

"Play for us."

" _I get my kicks and I wanna start a rager. I wanna dance like I'm on a video..._ "


End file.
